


Temporary Fix

by wumbo_requiem



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other, Preklok, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem
Summary: Magnus doesn't get kicked out of the band, but his eye injury and inability to play the way he used to leaves him with a whole new role. Toki joins the band as his replacement, and finds a family. Skwisgaar is left to navigate the emotional minefield between them, all while Dethklok inevitably skyrockets to fame.This AU tells the story of a 6-piece Dethklok, and how 3 clashing guitarists learn to live with each other.
Relationships: Magnus Hammersmith/Skwisgaar Skwigelf
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

The table is set. A pizza box haphazardly thrown on the table; five boys flocked around it, fighting for greasy sustenance; beer bottles of varying fullness sitting dangerously close to the edge of the table; the warm breeze fluttering the curtain; smiles all around, except for one.

Skwisgaar chews thoughtfully on a slice of pepperoni. He sits, as usual, between Magnus and Nathan, across from Pickles and Murderface. The two men brushing his shoulders seem to dwarf him because of his posture, although if he stood up, he would tower over them both. Whatever he lacks in overall presence, he makes up for in height. His stature earns him a sort of automatic respect- so does his prowess as a guitar player. It’s the latter that he values most. 

The other four laugh at something Pickles said- Skwisgaar doesn’t catch it. It’s typical of him to zone out lately, lost in one of his thought spirals. In the moments that he isn’t practicing his guitar, he finds himself thinking about the fretboard, touching it in his mind, plucking out sweet melodies for his ears alone. These moments are few and far between, but the thoughts are all-consuming. Maybe he’s in too deep, but he doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as necessary. If you don’t eat, sleep and breathe your instrument, then what do you play it for? His fingers itch to touch the Explorer; he takes another bite of pizza. 

Nathan, the de facto leader of the band, raises his hand, hushing everybody, and finally grabbing Skwisgaar’s attention. 

“Uh, before we get too drunk, I wanted to tell you guys. I got another gig for us this Saturday and we’re gonna need to practice, at some point.”

“Aweschome!” Says Murderface.

“Dat’s sick, dood,” says Pickles, clinking his bottle against the bassist’s in celebratory fashion.

“Good work, Nathan,” Magnus concedes. His arm bumps into Skwisgaar’s, and not by accident. The Swede says nothing, just nods, pulling his arm closer to himself, though it’s almost impossible to not come into contact with Magnus, who takes up his fair share of space with his deceptively inviting manner of sitting. Skwisgaar is used to these subtle touches. They mean, ‘I want to talk to you later’. Which usually means he can expect an argument with Magnus. He starts mentally preparing himself, trying to be present at the same time. The guitar is pushed to the very back of his mind.

“Yeah,” Nathan continues, ever oblivious to the exchange. “The Depths of Humanity, I think it’s called. It’s a little bigger than the gigs we usually play, so we gotta impress. There could be… important, uh, people there. Don’t quote me on this, but I think there’s a good chance we could put ourselves on the map. If we don’t fuck this up.” He looks hopeful- nervous even. Skwisgaar can feel the overwhelming feeling of  _ importance _ swell through the whole band. The urgency to practice that always lies within him- they must feel it too. 

Dinner goes on as usual, the upcoming show being the main topic of conversation. Skwisgaar does his best to listen but doesn’t have much to say. He’s ready to excuse himself, having eaten his fill. Magnus picks up on his readiness to leave as soon as Skwisgaar’s opened his mouth to say something. 

“I think Skwisgaar and I are going to step out,” Magnus says with that wolfish smile. Skwisgaar nods, wishing Magnus didn’t feel the need to speak  _ for  _ him. 

Without another word, they both stand up and push their chairs in. They pass through the living room, where their guitars and their makeshift beds both lay, and slip out into the hall. Skwisgaar stops, thinking they’ve gone far enough, but Magnus keeps walking, his boots clacking with purpose down the hall. It’s a wordless walk down two flights of stairs and out the main doors. It’s dark out here, the streetlights just starting to turn on around them. Skwisgaar looks back up to their window, missing the comfort within. The uneasiness in his stomach mounts, and he turns back to Magnus, who’s staring at him, waiting.

“Skwisgaar.” They eye each other down.

“...Magnus.” Skwisgaar’s nostrils flare at the overwhelming smell of exhaust from a passing truck.

“So, the upcoming gig…that’s exciting.”

“Ja. It ams.”

“And I was thinking. What better time to switch things up a little?” He reaches into his jacket pocket, nonchalantly pulling out a cigarette and placing it in his mouth. He cups a hand over it as he lights it, the flame momentarily lighting up his face. He looks menacing even when his expression is completely calm. 

Skwisgaar steps aside as a puff of smoke blows near his face. He doesn’t think very highly of Magnus smoking in general, but having to breathe it in as it floats on the stagnant air is downright insulting.

“How does you means?” He crosses his arms, tossing his hair. He knows exactly what Magnus is talking about, but doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. The frustration in Magnus’ eyes is almost enough to make Skwisgaar smirk.

“I just mean,” he takes a drag to regain composure, exhaling, “I could use some time in the spotlight. You always get to play lead… maybe now would be a good time for me to show the world what I can do.”

There it is, Magnus’ demand, plain and simple, and it's not the first time he's brought this up. Skwisgaar doesn’t let annoyance show. If one of them is going to lose his grip, it isn’t going to be him. 

“Dis amnt’s just  _ any _ shows. You knows dat… Dis ams de show what’s gonna, eugh…  _ solidifies _ our reputations.”

Magnus shrugs. “It’s just the same as any other show, far as I know.”

“Nathans told us dat dere might be  _ importants peoples dere _ . Don’t plays games with me, Magnus.”

Magnus squints his eyes at him. “You didn’t answer my question. You’re avoiding it, ‘cause what- you don’t  _ want _ me to shine on that stage? Isn’t that it?”

Words Skwisgaar would have never chosen to use, words he definitely doesn’t mean, are put in his mouth, and he wants to spit them out. “No, dat amn’ts what I saids at all. I wants you to shine, Magnus, but dere ams no way I’m lettings you play de leads.”

Magnus stomps his foot. He’s the first one to crack, as usual. “I knew it!” His teeth are gritted around his cigarette, and Skwisgaar watches through unimpressed eyes, half surprised he doesn’t bite it in half and eat it. “You’re always hogging the spotlight. You think you’re so much better than me.” 

“Once again, dat ams  _ not _ what I saids! Dat ams what  _ you _ saids, abouts yourself.” He looks up at the navy blue sky and then back at the fired up man in front of him. Magnus’ eyes sink into him viciously.

“Oh, but you said enough. You  _ implied _ that I’m not good enough to play the lead parts! Like I don’t practice my  _ entire ass off _ just to keep up with you!” 

“I never saids you didn’t.” Magnus is such a piece of work. The mental gymnastics he pulls off astound Skwisgaar. “You plays de  _ rhythm _ , and I plays de lead. Dere ams a reason for dats- because you ams de one who ams good at rhythm! And I ams good ats de other! If we switches parts, it wouldn’t sounds de same.” Come on Magnus, he wants to add, this is obvious. This is the way things  _ work _ .

Magnus huffs, thinking about it, stubbing out the cigarette. “I just- for  _ once _ , I want some recognition.”

“Pfft, you t’inks  _ I _ feel recognized? Wit’ de kinds of crowds we plays now? Please.” Skwisgaar smiles, but Magnus isn’t laughing. He’s looking at Skwisgaar as if he’d just insulted his mother, and Skwisgaar’s stomach turns to ice. His smile fades right off his face. 

“Is that some kind of joke, or am I misinterpreting your broken-as-hell English?” He spits the words, seething with disgust. “Because I’m pretty sure you still get all the chicks after shows. I’m pretty sure, that when I walk off the stage, and people deak past  _ me _ , to get to  _ YOU,  _ IT ISN’T JUST SOME COINCIDENCE. I THINK YOU ARE PRETTY. DAMNED. RECOGNIZED!”

The sound of a car passing is the only thing Skwisgaar can hear over his own quickened heartbeat. After that, he doesn’t know what to say. Magnus’ words are so obviously tinged with jealousy and hurt that he doesn’t know if he’s even seeing the situation for what it is anymore. Skwisgaar feels a pang of discomfort at having caused this, alongside worrying how many neighbours could have heard the yelling. 

Magnus’ chest heaves as he steadies himself, a hand placed over his heart as he tilts his head up toward the streetlamp, his eyes squeezed shut. Is he… crying? The silence is broken by his jagged breathing. Skwisgaar’s mouth hangs ajar. What has he done? He has never seen Magnus like this. 

“Ams you… okay?” He rushes over, each step more anxious than the last. He doesn’t know whether to reach out and touch him or to keep his hands to himself. All he feels is urgency, and panic.

“I- I just… need to calm down. That wasn’t-” Magnus turns away, swiping at his eyes with his inner sleeves. He’s wearing denim, and Skwisgaar can only imagine that doesn’t feel too good. He puts everything aside, even Magnus’ harsh words, and offers him the front of his white, spotless shirt.

Magnus looks at it in confusion and then clutches it, bringing his head down to Skwisgaar’s chest, muffling his choked sobs. Skwisgaar can feel hot tears soaking through the fabric. It’s a bizarre feeling. Unsure of what to do next, he wraps an arm around Magnus, as tentative as a cat trying to prod something off a table, and rubs his back. It feels like the right thing to do. When Magnus doesn’t push away, Skwisgaar takes that as consent to keep doing it. They stay like this for a long moment.

Once Magnus is done, he stumbles back, steadying himself against the pole of the streetlamp with his hand. “I’m never gonna live that down,” he grumbles, eyes fixed on Skwisgaar’s chest, which now bears an embarrassing wet patch where the white fabric is turned clear. Skwisgaar wishes he could cover himself up, feeling bare in that one spot. 

“I amnt’s gonna tell nobodies, I promise,” Skwisgaar says softly. “Just… tells me what ams going on. You kinds of scareds me.” 

A deep, shakey sigh leaves Magnus’ lips. “I just kind of freaked out. Maybe I shouldn’t have said those things, but... It’s hard, Skwisgaar. You have to understand that it’s hard.”

Skwisgaar tilts his head to the side slightly. “What? What ams hard?”

“Living in your shadow. _That’s_ _hard_.”

The words hit Skwisgaar in a different way than the shouting had. He stands there, rooted to the spot, and has to think really hard about what to say to that. 

“Listens…” Magnus won’t meet his eyes. “I- I don’ts know what to says about de chicks. But you amnt’s in my shadow, Magnus. Maybe you feels dat ways, but to me, we ams on, eugh… equals-footing.”

“Well,” Magnus turns away from him, back toward the apartment. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“I don’ts know what you wants me to say!” Skwisgaar’s voice is devoid of its usual composure. It’s desperate, shocking even himself.

Magnus spins on his heel, glaring back at Skwisgaar. “I don’t know what I want you to say either!” He runs a hand through his hair. His glassy eyes, raw from being rubbed at, have that same desperation. “Let’s just go inside. Pretend I never said anything.”

“Well, dat ams impossibles, now dat you droppeds dis  _ bombshells _ on me. Don’t leaves me to picks up de pieces.” He bites his lip. He doesn’t want to hand over anything to Magnus, but after how this night is shaking out, he thinks he’s going to have to. Something has to be done to fix this. “Maybe we can makes somet’ing work… you won’ts takes my spot playing lead, but maybes you can does a solo. How does dat sounds?” Skwisgaar all but winces as the words leave his mouth.

Magnus’ hopeless eyes brighten. “Really? You’re not just messing with me, right?”

“After all dis?” Skwisgaar laughs good-naturedly. “How coulds I?”

Magnus sniffs, a smile lifting the edges of his mouth. “Skwisgaar… thanks.”

Maybe, he thinks as relief washes over him, this  _ is _ the right thing to do. “It ams gonna be hards! We ams gonna have to practice  _ extra hards _ for dis. If you ams up for de challenge.”

“Haha! I’m  _ always _ up for a challenge.” Magnus’ whole demeanor has changed. Skwisgaar wonders for a split second if the crying was all an act, but Magnus’ genuine, crooked smile puts that doubt to rest. “Let’s go inside now, ‘kay?”

“Sures.”

Like before, Skwisgaar follows Magnus up the stairs. This time, he’s mentally preparing for sleep, so he can get to bed and rise early, as is typical of him. After all, he needs all the practice time he can get. This new mission of his isn’t what he wanted, but he’s stuck with it now. He knows Magnus is more than capable of learning a solo. It’s something else that’s gnawing at him. It’s ugly to think and too hard to ever admit, but maybe he  _ does _ have a hard time sharing the spotlight. Skwisgaar had tried to make it not about that, but maybe Magnus has a point.

After returning home and going through his nightly routine, Skwisgaar lays down on his cot in the dark living room, ready to call it a night. He drapes his arm over his closed eyes, thinking about the possibility of his own selfishness. With a sigh he decides to put a pin in it. Overthinking it isn’t going to help. After all, he’s in agreement to share the spotlight now, right?

He can hear Magnus shift onto his couch just a few feet away. He mumbles something that Skwisgaar doesn’t catch, muffled by his pillow.

“...dids you says something?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says, this time unmuffled. “I said goodnight. And thanks, again, for… you know.”

“Ja,” Skwisgaar yawns. “I knows.” He nods off not long after, and in his dreams, he plays his guitar, alone on stage, to an audience of one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skwisgaar and Magnus spend the day tolerating each other! Get your musical bonding here folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit longer, and mostly lighthearted, but it's a necessary transition into what's to come.

In the morning, Skwisgaar is the first to wake. He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When his vision adjusts to the pale morning light, he peers over to see Magnus snoring on his side. His face is emotionless. Skwisgaar is quiet as he sneaks past, not wanting to awaken the sleeping beast.

The water in the shower is hot and welcoming as it rolls off Skwisgaar’s back. He massages generous amounts of shampoo and conditioner into his scalp as he contemplates the last night’s exchange. He had been too shocked to give it much thought last night. Magnus’ outburst was not  _ entirely _ unpredictable, but the crying was... weird. He’s always been a loose canon, but no one in Dethklok  _ cries _ . And the almost-hug they’d shared. He doesn’t know what to make of that. Physical contact is another thing that Dethklok does not do. Skwisgaar can’t shake Magnus’ words about living in Skwisgaar’s shadow. He can’t really feel like that, can he? Even if he does, Skwisgaar isn’t budging so quickly. Magnus may have started the band, but that does not give him the right to claim the position that Skwisgaar has worked  _ so hard _ to obtain. A solo as compromise seems like  _ more  _ than fair enough. 

A knock at the bathroom door pulls him out of his thoughts. “Whats!” he shouts, startled. He knocks a bottle of shampoo over and begrudgingly picks it up.

“Heey Skwisgaar, can I get in there!?” Comes Pickles’ impatient voice. 

Skwisgaar sighs to himself, turning off the water, which he’s been merely soaking himself under in contemplation for the last couple of minutes, and grabs a towel. “Just a seconds!” He wraps it around himself, wringing his hair out over the drain and wrapping his hair in a separate towel. He unlocks the door and steps out, Pickles rushing past him as soon as the door’s open.

“Yer the reason that the water bill’s so goddamn high you know-” his complaint, albeit true, is cut off by retching. Skwisgaar winces, walking away so he doesn’t have to witness Pickles vomiting first thing in the morning.

Now he’s out here, naked other than the towel around his waist, his skinny form exposed. He shuffles over to the closet where he keeps his clothes and opens the door. Inside are piles of pants and tank tops, most of them the same cut and same shade of white. It’s almost like a uniform he wears every day. It doesn’t hurt that all his clothes can go in the same load of laundry, and his wardrobe is  _ so _ inexpensive. He grabs a set at random, along with some socks and underwear, and searches for a place to put them on. If he were more confident, he would just get dressed in the corner of the living room, or the kitchen away from the window, but he’s  _ much _ too self conscious for that. Someone would inevitably walk in on him and the shame is too unbearable to even imagine. Despite this, he’s walked in on Nathan changing half a dozen times because he is careless. 

Soon, he has the bathroom to himself again. He sees Pickles stumble back to his room, groaning and cradling his head. Skwisgaar feels bad for him and wonders if the others drank themselves into the same state. Save for him and Magnus, of course.

As he pulls his shirt over his head, he goes through a mental checklist of things he needs to do. Get dressed- check. Dry his hair- he lets it tumble out of the towel, still damp. It will air dry. Practice, practice, practice. That’s next. That part should take him the rest of the day.

He leaves the bathroom, feeling fresh and looking somewhat put together. As he makes his way to the living room, Nathan waves him over from the kitchen table.

“Morning Skwisgaar. You gonna eat something?”

Skwisgaar stops. Oh yeah, he guesses he should do that. “Uh, sures.” He changes course, glancing once at the living room to find Magnus starting to stir, and instead heads for the fridge. Nathan is eating a bowl of cereal, but Skwisgaar isn’t feeling that… a banana it is. He grabs one and starts the coffee maker on his way back to the table. Sitting across from Nathan, he peels his breakfast and takes a bite. They really need to go grocery shopping.

Nathan leans in, and Skwisgaar can smell his terrible breath. “So, how did last night go with Magnus? Thought I heard some yelling.” He speaks in a low voice, so Magnus can’t overhear. 

Skwisgaar looks over at the couch cautiously and then back to Nathan. “He wanteds me to hand overs de leads parts.”

“Again?” Nathan sighs. “Jeez, guy’s delusional.”

Skwisgaar snorts. “Ja. I lets him have a solos… I gots to makes sure he can plays it todays.” He leaves out the parts where Magnus totally freaked out on him, because he did promise he wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Huh. Brutal.” Abruptly, he clears his throat and leans back. Skwisgaar does the same. Magnus’ footsteps approach.

Skwisgaar watches as the older man walks to the table, creaky and slow. He takes a seat between them, and Skwisgaar is grateful that there is enough room at the table for them to not sit so close together.

“Hey, Magnus.”

“Good mornings.” 

Magnust nods at them in greeting. 

Skwisgaar gets up to get his coffee. The silence that’s fallen over the kitchen is  _ unbearably _ awkward, and it helps having something to do. He stirs in a bit of milk and nothing else. It’s always better bitter.

“Do you mind pouring me a mug?” Magnus asks hoarsely. He clears his throat.

Skwisgaar waits for a ‘please’, but one never comes. Back turned to the others, he rolls his eyes. Get it yourself, he thinks, reaching for a second mug. He fills it most of the way. “What does you wants in it?” He asks, feeling more like a barista than a respected bandmate.

“Nothing.”

He’s trying to one up him on  _ bitterness _ . Unbelievable. Skwisgaar fills the mug the rest of the way and hands it over, sliding back into his seat. Magnus receives the mug with a nod, saying nothing else. Skwisgaar’s blood feels as hot as the coffee.

Nathan breaks the tension, probably unintentionally. “Hey, so I heard you’re playing a solo at the gig. Can’t wait to see that,” he says. Skwisgaar is reminded once again that he’ll be spending the bulk of the day with Magnus to work on it and it’s all he can do to sip his coffee and hold his tongue.

Magnus eyes Skwisgaar for a split second then looks back to the singer. “Yeah. Looking forward to that too buddy.” His leg bounces under the table, shaking it lightly, and Skwisgaar senses that he’s nervous. He’s going to have to lose that nervousness if he wants to play the solo- Magnus must know this, because he’s trying to mask it the best he can. He changes the subject, laughing. “Oh yeah, did you and the others party hard last night? I think I heard Pickles puking.”

Nathan chuckles. “Yeah. I tapped out a little while before they did though. Murderface is gonna be such a pain in the ass to deal with later.” 

Skwisgaar can’t help but smirk at the thought of the two older, hungover bandmates, dreading the light of day in their dark room. The way the apartment’s set up, they share a room (with separate mattresses of course), and Nathan has his own. It’s only fair, as he pays most of the bills. Skwisgaar has dreamed of the day he gets his own room, with a real bed that  _ isn’t _ right next to Magnus. That day seems to be getting closer and closer as this milestone gig approaches.

“...Skwisgaar? Hey,  _ Skwisgaar _ .” 

Skwisgaar snaps to attention, the vivid image of his dream room dissipating from his mind into thin air. Magnus is waving his hand near his face. 

“Earth to Skwisgaar!” Voice full of attitude, he pokes Skwisgaar’s forehead.

“Yes? Whats?” Skwisgaar pushes the hand away and stares at him, his wide eyes demonstrating that he is now paying full attention.

“I  _ said _ , are we gonna practice now, or what?”

Nathan has left the table - Magnus’ coffee is gone - Skwisgaar’s is getting cold in his hands. He drinks down as much as he can in a few seconds, and nods.

“Ja. Sorries.”

“Right.” Magnus takes Skwisgaar’s mug without asking, and dumps out the rest, throwing both in the grimy sink. Skwisgaar doesn’t have time to protest. He heads into the living room with a quiet sigh and unzips the Explorer, taking it out of its case. He sits back down on his cot to tune up by ear, and Magnus joins him shortly, grabbing his Les Paul. He plugs in and tunes on the couch. Skwisgaar almost rolls his eyes again at the noise. He forgot that Magnus doesn’t do most of his practicing unplugged, like he does. Skwisgaar plugs the Explorer into another amp and practices a few quick scales.

“You readies?”

“Uh- give me a moment.” Magnus twists the tuning peg a small degree and, pleased with the sound this time, strikes an evil chord. “Yeah. I’m  _ ready _ .”

Skwisgaar can hear it in his voice when he’s trying to correct his English, but it’s not going to work. He’ll try to remember not to tack an ‘s’ onto that word, but then he’ll forget again in time… he’s trying his best. Magnus doesn’t seem to know that. But it’s not worth bringing up. 

“Ou-kays, sos, dere ams gonna be two solos. I was gonna plays de first  _ ands _ second ones, but now you gets to play de second ones. Dat sound good?”

“Yeah, peachy. How do I play it.”

Impatience gets you nowhere, he wants to say.  _ Especially _ with an instrument this complex. But he moves on. “Alright, sos, I’ll plays it first, den breaks it down. It ams gonna comes after we finish… holds on.” He blindly searches with his right hand under his bed and produces the crumpled up setlist they’ve been sticking to. He unfolds it. “Eugh… after we finish Face Fisted. Don’t worries, though- Nathan will introduce de solos, so you will knows.”

“Uhuh.” Magnus’ eyes stare into his, entirely unsurprised and a little bored. 

Skwisgaar stops. “Just watches my fingers.” Then he launches into the solo. It’s fast and melodic, of his own design. His fingers fly over the fretboard, and as focused as he is on playing, he wonders if Magnus will be able to keep up. Probably not, at first, but he’ll teach him well.

“Aaaand dat’s it.” He lets the last note ring out and then mutes it with his palm. “You t’ink you cans plays it back to me? Or you wants me to breaks it down?”

Magnus bites his lip, tring to remember the first part. His fingers ghost over the fretboard. He produces a few phrases- sounding not bad but not polished either- then stops. “Yeah,” he laughs candidly, “I’m gonna need you to break that down for me.”

Skwisgaar laughs with him. “I gots you.” The music has a way of taking the edge off, of making them able to talk to each other without the tension and moodiness. It’s moments like this that make the two guitarists able to stand each other. Skwisgaar goes over the beginning slowly, having Magnus repeat after him. Magnus nods- great, he’s got that part. Then they do the middle section. There’s a bit of trouble with one part, so they spend a long time hammering that out. They practice like this, little by little, for much of the afternoon. Then they decide to take a break, getting drinks from the kitchen and sitting back down across from each other, Skwisgaar on his cot and Magnus on the couch.

“You ams getting pretty goods at dis, I must says. Even dat pesky middles part.” Skwisgaar takes a swig of his beer, watching him.

Magnus beams sheepishly, looking down at the guitar in his lap, fiddling with his pick. “Ah. You don’t mean that.”

“Ja, I  _ does _ , or I wouldn’t have saids it.” There’s a lot of truth to that statement. Skwisgaar can be pretty blunt and everyone’s aware of that. When Magnus goes quiet, he prods him. “Hey, you gots dis. I know I was, eughhh, pretty hesitants at first, about givings you de solos, but I ams honestlies impressed.”

Brown eyes meet his, glistening with surprise. It’s as if that was all Magnus wanted to hear. He opens his mouth and closes it, opting to take a drink first, and Skwisgaar does the same.

“You’re a pretty good guitar teacher, I’ll admit,” Magnus says conversationally. “You ever thought of doing that for a living?”

Skwisgaar scratches his head. “Hmmm, nos. I mean, yeah, de thoughts has crossed my brains, buts, I ams way more into playings de guitar on stage. It ams my home.”

Magnus makes a face and Skwisgaar wonders if he’s used the wrong word or something, but this doubt is soon forgotten. “That’s some profound shit. I like that.”

Before Skwisgaar can get in another word, someone trudges into the room.

“Hey, what’re you gaysch up to?”

It’s Murderface, and judging by his messed up hair and squinty eyes, he’s just crawled out of his cave of a room.

Skwisgaar grimaces at the remark, hating the implication that they can’t even have a civil conversation without it somehow making them effeminate.

“Good morning,  _ sleeping beauty _ ,” Magnus says. He knows just how to get on Murderface’s nerves. Second only to his guitar playing, Magnus’ natural talent is getting on  _ everybody’s _ nerves.

“We ams prackticing fors de next shows. We were focusing really hards, befores-”

Magnus cuts him off. “Yeah, practicing. What are  _ you _ up to? Besides interrupting.”

Murderface crosses his arms. “I was juscht going to have  _ breakfascht _ , thanksch for aschking.” He flips them off and storms off to the kitchen. Skwisgaar looks at Magnus, silently mouthing  _ what de fucks _ . Magnus just shrugs. A moment later, they hear the fridge open, and then slam shut, all the bottles rattling around inside.

“MOTHERFUCKER DRANK ALL THE MILK!” 

The two guitarists erupt into laughter. 

“Good luck dealing with that, Nathan,” Magnus muses, picking his guitar back up and resuming playing position.

Skwisgaar makes a "hueh" of amusement and follows suit. “Readies to starts again?”

“Yeah- uh, wanna try playing it together this time?” Magnus suggests.

“Sures, if you t’inks you can keeps up,” he teases. “Slows-fingers.”

“Alright, don’t be an ass.”

With that, Skwisgaar counts them in with his foot and they begin playing. They sound good together, the voices of their guitars melting into one vehicle of sound. Skwisgaar is so tempted to switch it up and create beautiful harmonies, but then he thinks that might mess Magnus up, so he doesn’t.

Magnus doesn’t make any mistakes this time, but there is something just  _ slightly  _ off about his playing. 

“You ams gettings in your own heads too much, Magnus,” Skwisgaar comments when they’re done. “It shows.”

Magnus frowns slightly. “Well-” he huffs, at a loss. “I’m just learning it.  _ You _ already know it,” he says, a defensive edge to his voice.

“Hey, and dat’s okays. I ams just lettings you know, fors de futures. Wit’ more practice you will be ables to plays it wit'out even  _ t’inking _ about it.”

“Mm.” Magnus looks dejected now. Skwisgaar doesn’t know why his mood shifted all of a sudden. 

“Dids I says somet’ings…?”

Magnus purses his lips together, plucking a quiet melody on his guitar, thoughtful. Skwisgaar is worried he might blow up at him without warning again. “It’s just-” he says with an air of frustration. Skwisgaar braces himself. “It all comes so  _ easily _ to you. I  _ know _ you’re just trying to help out, but I’m worried my playing won’t ever be satisfactory for you.”

Skwisgaar looks at him. “You knows I didn’ts writes dis  _ and nails it _ overnights right? I played it overs and overs again, I practiced it in my heads even when I didn’ts have de guitars. Dat ams how I learns it. Not because it  _ cames easily _ to me.”

This shuts Magnus up for a bit. His eyes seem to consider how much practicing is being asked of him. For a moment Skwisgaar wonders if he’s going to back out. But his eyes harden in determination.

“Let’s go through it again.”

And so they do. For the rest of the afternoon. They get so lost in the solo and their other songs that they only take a break when Nathan unplugs their amps.

“Could you guys fucking stop playing for a minute, you’re giving Pickles a migraine.” The guitarists look at each other guiltily, unplugging their guitars and taking them off. “Hey, do you guys even know what time it is?” More silence. “Skwisgaar, did you even eat lunch? Magnus?”

“Shiiit, I guess not.” Magnus looks down at his fingers and presses them to his palms, wincing in slight pain. Skwisgaar runs his thumbs over his own fingertips, which are calloused but still a little sensitive. The skin is flaking off them. 

“Oopsies. What ams for dinners?”

“We  _ ate _ it. Like an hour ago. Uh, sorry. We tried to tell you guys but. You didn’t listen.”

How late is it? Skwisgaar panics and rushes over to the clock on the stove- it’s past eight. He sits back down on his cot, the hunger in his belly catching up to him. He is surprised that he managed to pull Magnus into his musical world for this long. It’s likely the guitar is just as intoxicating to Magnus as it is to him.

“Wells, I guess I’m goings to bed hungries,” he decides.

“Uh, no,” Magnus scoffs at him, an eyebrow raised. “We’re getting something to eat. Come on.”

Skwisgaar laughs dismissively. “You gots money pals?”

“Yeah, a little. Come on. Get up.”

Skwisgaar stands up and puts his guitar away. It’s surprising, to say the least, that Magnus is extending this kindness towards him. Then it clicks. Maybe this is his way of thanking him, or apologizing for last night’s  _ whatever that was _ , or both. Whatever it is, Skwisgaar can’t say no to a free meal at Magnus’ expense.

“Where ams you t’inking of goings?” Skwisgaar says as he pulls his boots on and unlocks the door.

“Nowhere fancy. Dimmu Burger?”

“I ams so sick of Dimmu Burger- sures,” Skwisgaar says with a joking smirk. It isn’t like they have many other options. At Least Dimmu has palatable food. He’ll probably just get some fries or something and call it a day. 

“Great.” They head off together, back into the parking lot where they were last night. Magnus has a car, in fact he’s the only one who has a car, but they don’t need to take it. As they walk under that one street lamp, Skwisgaar can’t stop himself from thinking of the emotional exchange that took place there. Magnus’ discomfort is obvious; he must be thinking about it too. He changes the subject that’s on both their minds after they cross the street.

“What’s your favourite song on the set.” He says too quickly.

Skwisgaar doesn’t process it. “Whats?”

“What’s your favourite song on the set list?” He repeats, a fraction slower.

“Oh, dat ams a tough ones. My favourites to plays woulds have to bes, eugh…” he licks his lips in thought, then sticks his finger in the air when he comes to an answer. “Oh! Awaken, for sures. Loves de guitar breakdowns in dat.” He air-guitars the part and tries to sing the high pitched notes, making a mockery of his own guitar work. 

Magnus laughs at this- a good and genuine laugh. “Oh my god,  _ stop _ it. I know the part.” He shoves Skwisgaar, in an attempt at playfulness, a little too hard, and he stumbles off the sidewalk into the grass. “Whoops. I was hoping you’d say The Hammer anway.”

“Pshh, ja, I wonders why!” Skwisgaar jokes. “Because you wrotes de guitar for it or somet’ings? What ams  _ your _ favourites, hm?”

“My  _ favourite _ , huh? Take a wild guess.” His eyes are teasing. Skwisgaar pretends to look perplexed.

“Hmmm, I dunnos. Would it maybes be ones dat ams named after a constructions tool? Somet’ing wit’ a  _ stupid _ name like dat.”

“Fuck off! But, for the record, you’re right. Okay, get a grip."

Skwisgaar is already laughing at his own jab, and Magnus’ retaliation is just the icing on the cake as he doubles over. 

They make it to the end of the block, where the nearest Dimmu Burger is located. Magnus stops before they go inside, looking at the  _ other _ side of the street, an idea flashing in his eyes.

“Hey, how about a change of plans- you wanna go get a drink instead?”

“Eugh, nos? Usually I woulds says yes, but I only hads a banana fors my breakfast todays, so, no t'anks you.”

Magnus twists his mouth into a weird expression then shrugs. “Alright,” he concedes. “Fair enough. I promised I’d feed ya.”

The smell of fast food swamps them as they push through the doors. Skwisgaar peers up at the menu, squinting. He’s grateful for the pictures because sometimes written English words lose their meaning. He’s still trying his best.

Magnus picks up on this. “I’ll order for you. What do you want?”

“Mmmm, hows abouts just fries?”

“ _ Just _ fries? I have enough money for more if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Hmm. Den I’ll gets a cheeseburger too. Small ones. And eugh, Sprits.”

“I’m sorry what? Oh- haha, are you trying to say  _ Sprite _ ? Like the drink?”

Skwisgaar reddens. He had been. “Ja, whatevers. I’ll finds us a tables.”

Hearing Magnus laugh in the background, he stalks off, cursing inwardly, and sits down at the cleanest table he can find. Propping his chin up on his fist, he watches the cars pass outside. It feels strange to be out with Magnus,  _ just _ Magnus. Magnus is cold and mean when he wants to be, and demanding and immature. He’s a whole lot of worse things too, like manipulative and controlling. But then there are pleasant days, like this one, where, despite his stubbornness he’s friendly. Skwisgaar has learned to take the good with the bad. Their friendship is there, but complicated at best. He holds on to the moments where they joke around together, like they did on the walk over here, and he carefully examines the moments where they fight, like last night. According to his findings, Magnus is almost  _ always  _ the instigator. Everyone kind of already knows that, though.

His mind drifts to Nathan, and their breakfast conversation. Nathan is a true friend, and one whose motivations he doesn’t have to question. One who never fights with him, because he’s not hotheaded or ridiculous like Magnus. Nathan has always been on Skwisgaar’s side, even when he was new to the band, and was  _ really _ struggling with English. The cultural divide and language barrier had made Skwisgaar feel alienated from the rest of the band, but Nathan was patient with him- and still is. Softly correcting him when it’s warranted, and overall making him feel welcome. He always has his back- like this morning, when Skwisgaar recounted the events of the last night. Nathan would never take Magnus’ side over his, and that makes Skwisgaar feel just a little bit safer.

The sound of the tray smacking against the table wakes him up. He nods in acknowledgement, opening up the wrap of his burger and sipping on his Sprite. Oh, how good it is to have sweet sugar back in his body.

“T’anks,” he says.

“Don’t mention it. Now eat. The  _ Sprite _ isn’t gonna last you.” Magnus bites into his own, larger burger and eyes him.

Skwisgaar is about to argue but stops. He’s right. He picks up his burger and tastes it, looking to the side, frankly feeling a little watched.

They’re both quiet for a while as they focus on getting food into their bodies, Skwisgaar making his fries disappear in a matter of minutes. Then Magnus pipes up again. “Tomorrow we’re rehearsing with the whole band, right?”

Oh yeah. They are. “Yep,” Skwisgaar says around his straw. “I t’inks wit’ de amounts we practiced, we’ll be fines.”

Magnus nods, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Yeah. Agreed.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but goes back to sipping at his own drink- a rootbeer- as if he has nothing to say at all.

Come on, Skwisgaar thinks. There had to be something good there. Say it. It’s infuriating how Magnus cuts himself off like that. 

That conversation is pretty much dead, so Skwisgaar thinks of something else to talk about. “Heh, you t’inks Murderface and Pickle ams gonna be de same kinds of fucked up tomorrows?”

“Hopefully not, but who could blame ‘em? Hell, if you hadn’t stopped me back there, we might have ended up just as shitfaced.” 

It's definitely for the best that they’re not out drinking. But Skwisgaar imagines for a minute what might have been. Maybe Magnus would stop holding his tongue around him. Maybe they’d just get sloppy and sad, who knows. It’s all hypothetical for now. The last time they drank like that together, Skwisgaar blacked out. He has no idea, really, what he’d be getting into. He tries to limit himself with the booze these days, now that the band’s getting serious, and he has to be more  _ present _ … 

“Hey, um. How come you do that?”

“How comes I does what?” Skwisgaar blinks at him, feeling like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Just-  _ that. _ You zone out a lot, and you make this face. It’s the same face you make when you play the guitar. It’s really…” again, he cuts himself off. 

Skwisgaar wishes he was wearing a jacket like Magnus so that he could hide himself in it and never come out. He didn’t know that he made a face. Why was Magnus watching his face when he played anyway? He told him to watch his  _ fingers _ , which was where the music happened. 

“I, eugh, dat’s… what kinds face? Ams it an ugly face?” He asks, embarrassed.

Magnus frowns, thinking. “No. It’s just like… intense focus. Like this.” He locks eyes on the table in an exaggerated stare, scrunching his face slightly. It’s not that bad, but it is funny.

He laughs a little bit. “Sorries, didn’ts knows I was doings dats. As for de zonings out, it ams just somet’ings I can’t control.”

Magnus breaks his imitation stare and looks at him normally. “Huh. But you don’t zone out on stage?”

“Admittedlies, I does it a little bits. Dat’s why it ams a good t’ings dat I knows de pieces so well.” Skwisgaar never could have imagined admitting this much to Magnus, or anyone for that matter. But nobody else is as perceptive, and he’s never been asked before. It’s almost a relief to tell someone about it, as embarrassing as the behaviour is. Magnus and him keep racking up each other’s secrets. 

“God, you’re such a weirdo,” Magnus says, not without a little humour in his voice. He stands up and throws away their trash. “You done with your drink?”

“Nots yet.” Skwisgaar stands up with it and pushes in his chair, and they leave.

On the way home, a comfortable silence falls over them. Yes, actually comfortable. Skwisgaar feels like today has seen immense progress between them. He doesn’t let his guard down entirely, knowing that Magnus could swing back to angry at any moment. But this is one of the nicer days they’ve had in a long time.

Magnus walks ahead, like there’s something weighing on his mind. Skwisgaar initially figures he won’t pry, but then he thinks back to how Magnus called him out on his zoning out habit, and feels entitled. 

“Hey. What ams you t’inking abouts?” He asks, catching up to him. 

Magnus sighs. “I haven’t had a cigarette today,” he answers. “Sorry if I seem off.”

‘Off’ is a funny way to describe it, because as far as Skwisgaar is concerned, Magnus has never seemed ‘on’, so to speak. 

“Why don’t you haves one den? You outs?” Not like he can offer him one.

“Nah,” Magnus taps his chest pocket. “Got ‘em right here.”

“Den why-”

“I’m trying to quit.”

Oh.

The silence that follows is just that- silence. The news is unexpected and sudden. Skwisgaar doesn’t overthink it, he’s just... surprised. 

“Congrag-you-lations,” he says, fiddling with his drink’s straw,  _ painfully _ aware of his mispronunciation. “Dat’s good, Magnus. I’m prouds of you.”

Magnus gives a short hum and a halfhearted smile, then turns away as they cross the street. The silence carries them the rest of the way home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two idiots do things. that's it that's the chapter. more at 6.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guitar hands, bloodshed and tragedy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big disclaimer! I pulled an entire scene of dialogue straight from the show (you'll be able to tell where)- there was no other way I saw to write it. That I do not claim to own. The rest is original.

Magnus has been avoidant all day. By the time their scheduled practice session rolls around, he shows up, but he is not himself. He acts sketchy, maintaining very little eye contact, and not one for conversation. He helps set up the room for practice, pushing his couch to the back wall, beside Skwisgaar’s cot, as the others set up speakers and instruments. Wires run along the floor like snakes- definite tripping hazards, if they’re not careful. 

As Skwisgaar plugs his guitar in, standing in formation with the band, he looks to Magnus. He’s a mess, that’s plain to see. Skwisgaar doesn’t know for certain, but he can only guess some concoction of drugs is to blame. If that’s the case, that’s a shame. He seems all too hopped up to play- his hands twitch near the guitar. Skwisgaar hopes Magnus can calm himself down enough to play the songs right. 

Nathan sits on the couch across from the band, watching. He likes to listen to the instrumentalists first before he sings with them, just to hear how they’re doing. It lets them get warmed up, makes playing the second time smoother.

Skwisgaar locks eyes with the singer for a moment before they play. He looks just a little concerned- maybe he’s noticed what’s going on with Magnus, too. 

“Alright. Looks like you guys are ready to go. Count ‘em in, Pickles.”

“Alrighty, boss.” Pickles raises his sticks in the air and bangs them on each beat, “ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!” The first song is Awaken. Skwisgaar’s attention is locked on his guitar as he plays that catchy intro riff. He’s in the zone. Everybody plays in sync- Magnus proving he can still keep a steady rhythm, Murderface’s bass punctuating every note, and Pickles’ blastbeat drumming holding up the whole thing. The first song is a success. It sounds even better than other times they’ve played it.

Then they launch into the next one. This one is the Hammer, being Magnus’ pride and joy for having written parts of it. Skwisgaar can’t help but look over at him periodically throughout this one. Magnus adds a touch of extra flavour to this song every time he plays it. Even now, when he’s been acting kinda funny, he takes this seriously. Skwisgaar watches Magnus’ fretting hand move up and down the neck, his own fingers going on autopilot. There’s such expertise in the way Magnus plays, such purpose, without lingering on the idea of perfection. If it doesn’t come easy to him, he sure makes it  _ look _ like it does. 

Focus.

Skwisgaar breaks his gratuitous gaze and fixes his eyes on his own strings. He wonders if the brief change in his playing was noticeable.

Then, Pickles starts changing up the drum pattern. It’s subtle at first, but Skwisgaar notices it. It sounds pretty cool, actually- he wonders if he’s just making it up on the spot. He looks to Magnus again, to gauge his reaction, and it’s not pretty. His eyes go through a complicated process of emotions, and he spins around on his heel. Skwisgaar doesn’t think he’s ever seen his eyes get so intense.

“STOP!” He demands, and a hush falls over the room. “Stop playing!” He turns on Pickles. “What are you playing? That’s not the drum pattern!” He sends a nearby bottle of beer to the ground with a  _ SMASH _ . Glass shards tinkle in all directions, some hitting Skwisgaar’s boot. “I didn’t tell you to make it your own,  _ asshole _ .” Skwisgaar shrinks back instinctively, watching in awe. At least Pickles is protected from the madman by a wall of drums and cymbals. Still, the drummer looks terrified. He’s clearly too dumbfounded to defend himself.

Skwisgaar sees Murderface’s jaw agape and realizes his is hanging open, too. He doesn’t know how to shut it. He’s frozen, watching his bandmate like a bunny weary of a fox.

Magnus isn’t done. He turns back around, addressing everyone and no one at once. “Now why don’t you all shut the fuck up and listen to me, and let’s play some fucking mus-”

“ _ Hey. _ ”

Nathan steps out of the shadows, eclipsing one of the lamps lighting up the room. Skwisgaar is glad he stepped up- right now, it seems like he’s the only one who can help them. He feels powerless. He’s seen men get like this before, but not the men he considers his friends. Bad men. Magnus isn’t a bad man.

Magnus sneers at Nathan, and they’re locked in a staredown. The others are left to watch, to wonder who will pounce first. Skwisgaar’s intuition knows right away it won’t be his raven haired friend.

“Take it easy, this isn’t just your band, it’s  _ our _ band,” Nathan reminds him, cautiously, like someone trying not to get their fingers bitten off by a feral animal. 

Magnus’ reaction is just that, feral. “Without  _ me, _ you guys suck!” He lifts his guitar off his body and spikes it to the ground in one motion, and Skwisgaar is appalled. He has never seen the guitarist show such utter disrespect for his Les Paul. It’s got a little wear and tear, something that comes with years of being loved and held and played- now all that has been undone. What has it all been for? Skwisgaar wonders as his eyes dart from the instrument to its owner. Magnus’ hands are twitching, as if aching to do it again, or something worse. 

“You need to relax,” Nathan warns. “You’re sounding crazy.” He turns his back on the band, presumably coming to the conclusion that the fight is over. Skwisgaar can breathe again. Magnus will pick up his guitar and they’ll go back to playing, and finish the rest of the set.

But, that doesn’t happen.

At first, Magnus seems as though he’s cooled down, staring at the far wall. “I’m crazy,” he mutters, as if he can’t believe it, even with the way he’s been acting. Then his face twists into an awful grimace. “You don’t even  _ know _ what crazy even  _ looks like _ !” He shouts, and reaches behind him.

It all happens in a matter of seconds. Nathan is still turned around. Skwisgaar watches as Magnus pulls a knife from where it had been tucked away in his belt. There’s a split second where he could scream a warning, or tackle Magnus to the ground. He takes too long deciding which course of action to take, and the adrenaline coursing through his body roots him to the carpet he's standing on. Magnus charges an attack with his dagger pointed at Nathan, yelling wildly as he leaps forward, and sticks the knife right into Nathan’s shoulder.

Magnus reaches for the knife again, but Nathan is too quick. With the knife still lodged securely in his shoulder, Nathan whirls around on Magnus and throws him to the ground, nailing him in the face with fist after closed fist. After a while, Magnus stops trying to fight back, making him essentially a bloody, groaning punching bag.

A strangled noise escapes Skwisgaar’s throat as he watches all this go down. He’s in shock. They’re going to kill each other, he thinks. One of them is going to fucking die right in front of him, and he isn’t doing a damn thing about it. Why isn’t he  _ doing anything? _ He forces himself from his spot, but Murderface stops him with an outstretched arm.

“Schtay there, there’sch no usche getting yourschelf beat up,” he mumbles, still looking shaken himself. 

Skwisgaar stops, exhaling from his nose. Maybe he’s right. What is he thinking, trying to stop them? He has no muscle on his body compared to them. And, as irrelevant as it really is right now, his clothes would get soaked red. 

Pickles is on his feet, rushing over to Nathan.

Nathan is kneeling down over Magnus, whose body has gone limp, arms outstretched like a starfish on the floor, a puddle of blood spilling from his face. The singer reaches for the knife in his back, his breaths deep and irregular. Pickles stops him.

“No!! Leave it in until we get a doctor or somethin’! It’ll just bleed more.” Then he takes a knee, hand shakily reaching toward Magnus’ bleeding face. He peers down at him. “Shit, are you okay?”

Magnus’ body jolts. “AAAH, G-GET AWAY! DON'T TOUCH ME!” He howls, rolling over on his side, into his own blood. His jacket and hair are soaked in it now. “My eye… MY FUCKING EYE!” Magnus’ hands fly to the left side of his face. The skin around the eye is so puffed up that it’s hard to even see it, and fluids are spilling from it. Nathan landed a good punch there.

Skwisgaar’s hands cover his face. He peeks through his fingers, cringing as he watches the scene. His heart seems to stop when Magnus’ good eye lands on him.

“I won’t forget this,” Magnus hisses. Skwisgaar isn’t sure if that was directed toward him or his assailant, but it gives him the chills nonetheless. Magnus starts making incoherent noises. “Revenge is coming…” he manages to huff, shaking.

Nathan has since stood up, looking panicked now that he has not only a knife stuck in his shoulder, but a bandmate writhing on the floor with his face all beaten up.

“Oh fuck, what do we do. Magnus- can you stand? How bad is it?”

“F-fuck you!” 

“Magnus!” Nathan shouts shakily, beginning to lose his precious patience once again. “Can you get up? I’m serious.”

“Nnn-” Magnus’ hands move to his sides, elbows bent. He lifts his head up- then it comes crashing back down again, and his eyes close. 

Panic shoots through Skwisgaar, and the gasp from Murderface makes his suspicion feel all the more real- Magnus is dead.

Except, he’s not. He’s still breathing, albeit through a nose that is bleeding from one nostril.

Pickles, quick to act all of a sudden, runs over to their landline phone, muttering things to himself. He trips over a stray wire on the way there and almost lands flat on his face, but Skwisgaar catches him without thinking. Everything is a blur right now. Pickles is at the phone now, dialing the emergency number no doubt. Magnus is being propped up against the wall by Nathan and Murderface, their hands hooked under each arm. Skwisgaar is disoriented, breathing in and out mechanically. He can’t say or do anything.

An arm touches his shoulder and he backs away, stumbling backwards as his heel catches on the disregarded Les Paul. He realizes he’s taken his own guitar off at some point- absently he hopes the blood doesn’t get anywhere near the instruments.

Then he’s sitting at the table with a blanket around him, away from all the action. Everything is distant, the voices muffled, their bodies moving too fast. He squeezes his eyes shut. This is just a panic attack. But he feels disembodied. And worst of all, useless for not helping. 

Sirens, the ambulance getting closer. Men with a stretcher come through the door, taking Magnus away. Where are they taking him? No sheet rolled over him- that’s a good sign. Still. Skwisgaar has no idea what shape he’s in. And considering all the drugs he evidently took, whatever they were… Skwisgaar has to worry.

Out of the corner of his eye, a paramedic is examining Nathan’s wound. It’s stuck so far in, almost halfway down the blade. Seeing it in this proximity, with its shining handle, and the blood oozing from the wound…makes it feel too real. Skwisgaar’s eyes start to roll back.

Then all goes black.

  
  
  
  


…

  
  
  
  


When Skwisgaar awakens, he’s horizontal on the couch. The first thing he’s aware of is that he’s on the couch- the leather of it almost feels foreign under him because this is _Magnus’s_ _bed_ , and oh, right, he isn’t here anymore. Skwisgaar’s breath quickens again, alerting the others that he’s up.

Pickles, who has been scrubbing away at the carpet like there’s no tomorrow, kneels down at the side of the couch near his head, and lays his hand on Skwisgaar’s head, guiding it back onto the plush armrest. 

“It’s okay, Skwisgaar,” he coos. Never has another member of the band been so gentle with him. Pickles’ touch is like a mother’s, and Skwisgaar lets himself relax. He’s still a little confused, but now he trusts that Pickles has got him. He’s so close Skwisgaar can count the freckles on his face. Murderface is sitting opposite them, on the other armrest, looking on with vague concern. He looks tired, out of it. And who could blame him.

“Where ams Nat’ans?” Skwisgaar rasps. He clears his throat.

“Willie, would ya grab him a glass of water?” Murderface hops off the couch dutifully and Skwisgaar can hear the sink turn on in the kitchen. “Thanks,” Pickles calls. Then he sighs, looking at Skwisgaar. “Nate had to go to the hospital to get stitches. Don’t you worry about him, he’s a tough one. He’s gonna be just fine.”

That is a little comforting to Skwisgaar. Nathan is a tough guy, and usually patient too. What happened tonight was a strange anomaly. The thought of the knife in his best friend’s arm- he can’t even think about it without grimacing. He shakes the thought away, his head still reeling. Murderface pushes the glass of water into his hands, and helps Skwisgaar’s fingers wrap around the glass. Then he sits down in his previous spot.

“T’anks,” Skwisgaar nods and takes a sip. It’s cold and soothing on his throat. “Ands… What’s about Magnus?” The thought of his other so-called friend passed out on the ground in his own blood is somehow even more heart wrenching. Even though he started it, he ended up paying for it worse.

“His eye’s pretty fucked up, dat’s for sure. I think he may’ve passed out from shock at the blood loss. He should be fine, but I really don’t know… I’m sorry, Skwisgaar.”

Skwisgaar feels dejected. Betrayed. He’s sure they all feel betrayed by Magnus right now, in different ways. For Nathan, it’s the literal knife in his back. For Pickles, it’s because he was denied creative freedom. For Murderface, it’s feeling unsafe around a trusted bandmate. And for Skwisgar, it’s how foolish he feels for thinking he had found a genuine friend in Magnus. He was just starting to unravel him. They had gotten closer in the last few days, been right on the brink of something substantial, or so he’d thought. Now, he isn’t so sure.

He drinks more water, starting to feel alive again. “Dids I pass outs?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yep. Ya had quite a fall, too,” Pickles answers, motioning Skwisgaar to move his legs, and sits up on the couch between him and Murderface. “Might be a couple bruises on her back from fallin’ off the chair. Luckily, ya didn’t hit yer head on the floor.”

Skwisgaar gulps. He can’t deny that he got very lucky. To think that on top of this, he could have gotten a concussion- they would have no more band. Well, right now they don’t have much of a band, but without him there would only be a rhythm section. But band matters are the last thing on everyone’s mind currently. Right now what’s important is cleaning up this mess, and getting some rest.

Sitting upright, Skwisgaar wraps the blanket around his shoulders tightly and leans close to Pickles. He’s already spent the evening vulnerable, so what use is it to crawl back in his shell now? He wants comfort, not apathy. Pickles, ever the empathetic one, pats his back and runs his fingers through the ends of Skwisgaar’s hair. It feels good. Murderface, surprisingly, doesn’t comment. Skwisgaar guesses even he doesn’t feel up to cracking jokes.

It feels so wrong that the two founding members of the band are temporarily disabled- just  _ gone _ . The three of them don’t stand much of a chance on their own… Skwisgaar hopes that Nathan comes back fast, so he can tell them what to do. He’s the leader after all, he  _ always _ knows what to do.

Eventually, they disperse. Pickles and Murderface head to their room, but not without the former letting Skwisgaar know that if he needs anything, he’s right down the hall. It’s a sweet sentiment, but Skwisgaar doesn’t think he’ll be asking for anything. He doesn’t want to bother Pickles again, after all he’s done tonight. 

It’s funny- usually he’s damned to his cot. But now, he has three options. He can steal Nathan’s bed- he’s sure he wouldn’t mind, even if he was here; He can steal Magnus’ couch- he’s sure he  _ would _ mind, but Magnus isn’t here right now; Or, he can go back to his stiff cot…

Skwisgaar settles on option number two, since he’s already here and it’s comfy. Six feet away from him is the bleached blood spot. Ten feet away from him is the untouched Les Paul… he gets up, skirting around the wet patch of carpet and stoops to pick up the instrument. He brings it back to the couch and sits with it, unplugged, in playing position… for a split, eerie second, he feels like his bandmate. 

The guitar luckily didn’t take much damage, despite Magnus’ aggression. The neck didn’t snap or anything, and it’s not dented or scratched any more than it already was. It’s not like he smashed it. Skwisgaar runs his hands over the black finish, and strokes a finger up the low E string, all the way to the corresponding tuning peg. What if he were to start playing it? Again, it’s not like he’s  _ here _ … the moment Skwisgaar begins to strike a note, he stops himself. This is wrong, he shouldn’t be touching his guitar in the first place. Why is he so drawn to it anyway? It’s like it’s cursed, drawing him in by its aura…  _ Magnus’ _ aura, like it wants Skwisgaar to summon him.

Skwisgaar sighs, and puts it in its case, before doing the same for his own guitar. It’ll serve him best if it’s out of sight, and out of mind. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news and bad news. Dethklok visits the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno how hospitals work, or anything, really.

Half of the next day is spent quietly waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for a call back from the hospital, for any signs of life from Nathan or Magnus.

Skwisgaar spends most of that time floating around the apartment like a ghost, cleaning and sitting and standing and drinking water and looking out the window. He doesn't want to eat when the idea of what happened to his friends makes his stomach turn.

Pickles sticks close to the phone most of the time, pretending to be busy when everyone knows he's not. Murderface is in their room, doing who knows what, probably just sulking, or practicing his bass. Skwisgaar doesn't visit him. He doesn't talk to either of them, if he can help it. Pickles even gives him his space. Everyone is worried right now, about their friends and about their future.

Around 6 pm, the phone rings and Pickles' arm juts out on reflex, answering it instantly. "Hyello? Oh, right.... okay... well how long will he-? Oh? Oh.... okay. Yeah, yeah. Okay. Be right there. Thanks." He hangs up.

Skwisgaar watches with wide, curious eyes. "What ams de news?"

Pickles sighs, pacing to the kitchen, swiping his house key and wallet off the counter, and pacing back. "Hospital called. We can go an' pick up Nate. But Magnus is gonna hafta stay there for a lil' while."

Skwisgaar doesn't know whether to smile or frown. "Oh, well, de first parts ams good. What ams happeneds to Magnus?"

"His eye's all fucked up. They're gonna run some tests... they dunno how long he's gonna be in there for."

"Ohs..." Skwisgaar's heart sinks. He decides to focus on the good news. "What ams we waitings for? Let's go gets Nathan."

"Yeah," Pickles says with a small smile on his face, "lemme just get Willie first." He goes and knocks on the bedroom door, and Murderface opens it. "You comin' with us to get Nate?"

"Oh, you mean he'sch good to go?" Murderface looks relieved, which makes Skwisgaar smile. "Let'sch go!"

So the three of them set off. Once outside, Skwisgaar is about to head for the bus stop when Murderface grabs the back of his shirt, turning him around.

"We're taking the car, douchebag," he explains, and Skwisgaar sees Pickles swinging Magnus' car keys around on his finger, leaning smugly against the hood of the car with his other hand. 

"When did yous...?" Skwisgaar asks as he approaches the car. He sits shotgun, leaving Murderface to take the back seat while Pickles drives. It’s an old, beat-up black Chevy that Skwisgaar has rarely had the luxury of being inside. 

"Took 'em this morning. Figured they might come in handy," Pickles explains as he sticks the keys in the ignition and starts the car. They take off, and Skwisgaar holds onto his seat when he realizes what a terrible driver Pickles is.

"Eugh, you might wants to slows down- hey, dat's turning red!" His warnings fall on deaf ears. Pickles has the radio cranked all the way up, blasting some douchey hair metal from the 80's. Skwisgaar thinks, they're so lucky that no cops are following them.

They pull up outside the hospital surprisingly fast. Feeling a bit wobbly from the joyride, Skwisgaar gets out, slamming the door shut. If Magnus were here, he'd probably scold him for it. He frowns, wondering if he'll get to visit him or not. On the bright side, he'll get to see Nathan for sure, and actually take him home.

When they get in, they find Nathan sitting in one of the waiting areas, a weary look on his face when he sees them. Skwisgaar looks him over, noticing his disheveled hair, tired but dopey grin, and the way that one of his sleeves has been cut away, in its place a huge bandage on his shoulder.

"Nathan!" Pickles speeds towards him, awkwardly hugging him with one arm, on his non-injured side.

Skwisgaar sits in the chair next to him and smiles."Hey, Nathan, how ams you feeling?"

"Uh, haha, not bad... they put me on some strong shit. I don't feel a thing right now. But I probably will later, hahaha." He smiles back, rubbing his neck, and Skwisgaar can tell he's a little loopy. He'll be fine in a few hours.

"That'sch great, buddy. Let'sch get you home, then." Murderface already starts heading back, and Pickles helps Nathan to stand, a guiding hand placed firmly on Nathan's back.

Skwisgaar pushes out of his seat, but something feels wrong. "Waits-" the others turn around, eyeing him. "Ums, shouldn't we sees Magnus befores we goes?"

Nathan blinks, barely awake enough to care. Pickles shrugs. "You can if you wanna. I've gotta go pay fer this," he says, gesturing at Nathan. "You just gotta find out where his room is, 'cause I dunno."

"Murderface? You wants to comes wit's?" He offers, looking hopeful. Murderface crosses his arms.

"Schcrew that. I'm waiting in the car." He stalks off, mumbling quietly about his dislike for the hospital.

It looks like it's just Skwisgaar then. He follows Pickles to the desk where he makes the payment. While Pickles handles the finances and Nathan tries to handle standing up, Skwisgaar looks around, feeling lost.

"Um, can I help you?" A lady behind one of the desks asks in a deep southern accent, clicking on a keyboard with long nails.

"Um, ja, please. I ams looking to visits a friend, if dat ams an options..." He looks down at the white countertop, pristine, then back to the lady with golden brown curls.

"Can I get a name?"

"Magnus Hammersmith." He panics for half a second, worrying that she'll ask him how to spell it, because he doesn't know. But she types it in and gets a result just fine.

"Ah, he's in room 108... you go down that hall there and to the left, should find the room fine. Visiting hours end in about..." she glances at her watch, "twenty-five minutes."

He blinks, nodding as she points, hoping he'll be able to find it without somehow getting lost on the way.

"T'anks you..." he looks down at her nametag and squints. "Roseanne," he adds with a polite nod.

She smiles, twirling a curl of hair around her finger. "Just call me Rose..."

Skwisgaar’s already set off. He sees Pickles and Nathan waiting by the exit. 

"You guys can goes waits in de cars if you wants. I ams going to visits Magnus."

"Okie-dokie. We won't leave without ya!" Pickles says, waving goodbye, then loops his arm around Nathan's torso to steady him as they exit the hospital.

Skwisgaar starts off down the hall, taking in the shiny white floors and the faces of patients and doctors passing by. He takes a left and looks closely at all the room numbers. 104,106, 108... she said it was 108, right? He peers inside the little glass panel on the door, and to his relief, he sees Magnus lying in bed, with a male nurse tidying up beside him.

He knocks lightly to alert his presence, and the nurse walks to the door. He opens it with a thin-lipped smile. "Visiting?"

"Eugh, ja. I ams a friend of Magnus,” he says with some hesitation.

"Go on ahead. He's just sleeping. Maybe don't wake him up, though. He's had a pretty rough night..." Something in the nurse’s voice tells Skwisgaar that Magnus hasn’t been the most compliant patient. Who would’ve guessed. 

Skwisgaar steps inside the dim room, lit only by natural light from the window, and cautiously steps toward Magnus' bed. He gets as close as he dares, standing near the foot of the bed and peering down at the sleeping figure.

Magnus' hair has been tied back, and some of it is sticking out, little curls framing his visage. His face is a little swollen, but the blood has been cleaned up. Even with his eyes closed, he looks exhausted. Skwisgaar feels a pang of pity. But the feeling gets more complicated when he thinks of how Magnus got here in the first place. Fear joins the mix of emotion, and suddenly Skwisgaar is glad that Magnus isn’t awake right now.

Unsure how long he should stay or what he should do, he sits down in the visitors chair beside the bed, to the right of Magnus, closer to the door. The nurse has since left, perhaps to give them space. He worries, for a short moment, what would happen if Magnus were to attack him with no one around...

But, he wouldn't do that. Look at him- he's sleeping, Skwisgaar tells himself. He's probably in pain. He has no energy left to fight, even if he wanted to. And after getting his ass kicked so hard by Nathan, why  _ would _ he want to?

As Skwisgaar wrestles with his thoughts, Magnus begins to stir beside him.

"Mmh, what time is it... hey nurse? I asked what time it was..."

Skwisgaar's heart pounds. He looks up, and Magnus' eyes are just fluttering open. They look around, confused, before landing on him. Anxiety grips him as they stare at each other for a long moment.

"Skwisgaar?" Magnus asks groggily, a hand covering his injured eye, like when he was bleeding on the apartment floor. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"...Just visitings. I wanteds to see how you was doings." He decides not to mention Nathan, or the fact that he’s already coming home. It might be a little too soon for that. "How ams your eye?"

Magnus sighs. "That's... unexpected. My eye hurts like a son of a bitch. I can hardly use it right now... augh..." he moans, laying his head back down flat on the pillow, no longer looking at Skwisgaar.

"I ams sorries to hear dats," he says, genuine. "I hopes you recovers fast.'"

Magnus says nothing for what feels like a long time. His good eye squints at the light coming in through the window. He squeezes it shut. “Could you… go close that curtain a little?”

Skwisgaar obliges without a word, getting up and drawing the pink curtain as far as he can get it across the window. This blocks most of the light, casting a softer, darker atmosphere upon the room. “Dat betters?” He asks, looking back at Magnus.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he grumbles.

Skwisgaar goes back to his seat and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Sos… does you wants me to stays or goes?” He asks, picking at one of his nails.

“I don’t really mind if you stay. I’m glad it’s just you, though… won’t even ask where everyone else is. Don’t wanna know.”

That response is genuinely surprising to Skwisgaar. He’d expected Magnus to tell him to fuck off, in all honesty. Magnus sounds too tired to really care. 

“Ams we gonna talks about what happeneds back dere?” Skwisgaar asks after a while. 

“What is there to talk about?” He scoffs. “I… I was on some shit, okay. I did something I shouldn’t have. And I ended up here.”

Skwisgaar presses on, despite the little voice in his head telling him to back off. “You  _ stabbeds Nathan _ . Dat… amnt’s okay.”

“I know that. I think I got what I deserved,” he laughs drily, then coughs into his sleeve. “Fuck, I’d  _ kill  _ for a cigarette right now, y’know? Not… literally, of course. Hah.”

Skwisgaar sighs. It’s no use to try and keep him on topic. He ignores the morbid joke. “It ams a good t’ings dat you can’t haves one right now. Maybes it’ll helps you  _ quits _ , remembers?”

Magnus nods. “Yeah, either that or I’ll go back to smoking five packs a day.” He smirks, and Skwisgaar glares at him seriously. “Ah, I’m kidding. Lighten up, Skwisgaar.”

Skwisgaar wants to yell at him, to argue, to defend himself, but that just proves Magnus’ point… maybe he does need to lighten up a little. He’s still mad at Magnus, and betrayed by him, and worried for him, and then back to mad. But, maybe now isn’t the time to get into all of it. It leaves him feeling frustrated, so he just sits there for a minute, looking down at his hands. 

“We ams gonna haves a talks about all dis, after you gets out,” he says evenly. 

“Sure. I have some explaining to do. I owe you guys that much,” he agrees reluctantly. He can’t erase the past, but he can at least offer an explanation.

“And maybes you apoligisizes to Nathan?”

“...Maybe… ugh, my head hurts.”

Skwisgaar rolls his eyes. “Don’t bes dramatics. Sayings sorries can’ts hurts you.”

“N-no, I- it  _ really hurts _ !” Magnus’ voice warbles, and his lip quivers. Both hands cover his eyes now. Skwisgaar looks on with sadness. He stands up, his chair making a loud and unwanted sound, and backs toward the door.

“I’ll gets de nurse. Stay calms, Magnus.” He’s met with only a groan. Skwisgaar opens the door and sees the nurse from before walking back toward the room. With a thankful sigh, he beckons to him. “Magnus ams in pain, he- he wokes up.” Guilt drips from his voice, stings his eyes.

“Oh- I’ll see to him right away. By the way, visiting hours are over…” he glances at his wristwatch. “Woops- they ended 2 minutes ago. Don’t worry- you’re good.” He nods to Skwisgaar and disappears into the room again. 

Skwisgaar stands alone, peeking in through the glass one more time before stalking away, without getting to say goodbye.

The hall feels colder than it did before. Skwisgaar closes the door softly behind him, and walks back the way he came, back to the front doors. He couldn't be out in the parking lot any sooner. The fresh air hits him like a wave, blowing away the sad, sterile scent of the hospital as he searches for the car. Relief washes over him when he finds it still there, with his friends inside.

This time, an annoyed-looking Murderface sits shotgun, which means he gets to sit with Nathan in the back.

"Heys, sorries for takings so longs." He clicks his seatbelt on and looks at Nathan, whose head is leaned back against the headrest, rolled slightly to the side. He looks like he's passed out. Skwisgaar smiles faintly.

Pickles starts backing out of their spot. "'S okay. How was you know who?" His driving is a little more careful this time around, now that they have their recovering friend in the back.

"Eughhh... not goods. Recoverinks, but in pains. I hope dey gives him some medicines or somet'ings soon." Nathan's head droops onto Skwisgaar's shoulder, and he doesn’t move it. It makes him feel comforted. 

"Don't worry about 'im," Pickles counters. "He's in good hands, I think. Our boy Nathan's doing fine!"

A drop  of wetness lands on Skwisgaar's shoulder. He looks over in equal parts disgust and amusement to see that Nathan is drooling on him in his sleep.

Skwisgaar can't help but laugh. "Ja, he's fine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw it's Metalocalypse's birthday! 🥰🎉🎈 Party!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathan starts to heal. Skwisgaar makes a difficult decision.

In the next few hours, Nathan goes from comfortably drugged up to nauseous and in pain. The others treat him like he's delicate, sympathizing with him and trying to make him as comfortable as possible with what little they have. He spends the rest of the afternoon and all of the evening in his bed, laying on his left side, off his healing wound. Pickles is in and out of Nathan’s room, periodically bringing him food and taking dishes away. He also keeps an eye on the wound, and makes sure Nathan takes his pain medications as directed. Over the course of his lengthy music career, Pickles has seen the most injuries out of anyone in the band- some even worse than Nathan’s- so it’s natural that they leave most of the caretaking to him. 

It's late evening when Skwisgaar decides to visit. Pickles and Murderface are keeping themselves occupied with who knows what, so he figures now is the best time to see his friend without being disturbed. 

He hesitates outside Nathan's door, listening for signs of life. He can hear the large man shift in bed, grunting his discomfort, then going quiet again. Skwisgaar knocks.

"Uh, come in."

"You ams decents?"

Nathan's laugh booms out into the hall. "Yeah man, whaddaya think I'm doing in here? Jacking off?"

"Just checkin's." The door pushes open and Nathan is sitting on his bed, cross-legged, with his hair tossed over his left shoulder. His fingers knot through it, and his face is untypically focused.

Skwisgaar shuts the door softly and sits down across from Nathan, resting his chin on his knees.

"What ams you doings?"

"Urghh just trying to braid my hair. So that it doesn't rub against my shoulder and uh, agitate it. Also, I got bored." 

The braid, in its current state, is chunky and messy, with strands sticking out erratically. It's a shame- Nathan's got beautiful hair, but he just doesn't know how to style. He looks frustrated and gives up, letting his hands fall into his lap with a soft whack. Skwisgaar bites down a smile, his spindly fingers moving to Nathan’s locks by impulse. He un-braids the hair with practiced hands, careful not to snag it on his callouses. 

"What are you doing?" Nathan asks, shooting him a suspicious look. As Skwisgaar collects his hair into three even, careful sections, Nathan crosses his arms, finally understanding. "OH, you think you can braid better than me?"

That earns him a dismissive snort. "No, I _ knows _ I can braids betters dan you."

Nathan gives in, grumbling, "You're probably right, you Swedish asshole."

A light silence falls between them as Skwisgaar gets to work. For a few minutes, there's no talk about backstabbers and betrayal, and both of them are relaxed. Skwisgaar has always found working on hair to be therapeutic, whether it be his own or his mother’s or someone else’s, like the girls he was friends with in his home village. Skwisgaar smiles at the memories and pulls a small elastic band from his pocket. He fastens it around the end to keep the hair in place, and finishes with a flourish of his hands, letting the braid fall into place against Nathan’s shoulder. 

"Dere you goes. Much nicers, ja?”

Nathan admires Skwisgaar’s work, stroking it gently. "Thanks. A bit snug, but… not half bad." Skwisgaar hums in satisfaction, beaming. He knows Nathan appreciates it, even though he’s not the most expressive. That’s never caused a problem between them so far.

Nathan sits back against the headboard and sighs. His eyes grow serious. "Hey. We need to talk about... y'know. The Magnus situation.” He makes a face, as if the name leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

Skwisgaar’s tongue prods at one of his molars. He is not sure why he feels like they’re going to have a difference of opinions right off the bat. He and Nathan are usually on the same page. This should be no different. But because it’s about  _ Magnus _ …

"You saw him in the hospital," Nathan says. "How's he doing?"

"Ums, not too goods. His eye ams screwed ups. He ams in a lot of pains, too.”

"Mmh. 'S what I heard. You know, I don't think he's gonna be able to play for us after this,” Nathan says, shaking his head.

"Dat may bes true, but we don’t knows for sures.” Skwisgaar swallows, pausing. The question spills forth from mouth before he can stop himself. “Ams you kickings him out of de bands?”

A heavy sigh. Nathan holds his head in his hands. In the moment that he doesn’t speak, Skwisgaar wonders what he’ll say. What does he  _ want _ Nathan to say? Deep down, he knows.

“Yeah,” Nathan says. “I don’t see another option, really.”

Oh. Skwisgaar’s heart sinks. This should be a good thing, he tells himself. This is the right decision. Kicking out the man that stabbed your best friend is  _ always _ the right decision.

But why is Skwisgaar unable to fully digest it? The rational part of him understands the decision, but another part of him, a part he cannot fully understand, is  _ screaming  _ against it _. _ He scrambles to find an argument.

“Dat does seems like de  _ reasonables  _ decisions, but ums…don’t we still needs him to plays guitars?”  _ If he still can _ .

Nathan shrugs. “We can get someone else to play guitar. Someone  _ better _ .”

The word hits Skwisgaar hard, as if he is taking the blow  _ for _ Magnus. He gets stumped for a second, but then he remembers something. Playing rhythm guitar was never Magnus’ only role. “Ja, buts where ams we gonna finds a better  _ writers _ ?” 

Nathan bites down on his knuckle. “Huh. You have a point- he  _ did  _ write almost a third of the material we have… And he’s gonna be  _ pissed _ if we don’t put his name on the record. _Ugh_.” 

“Rights! He mights attacks us again, or sues, if we don’ts lets him come backs.” Skwisgaar feels like he’s on a roll. Although he isn’t sharing _all_ of the reasons why he wants to keep Magnus around. There’s a part of him that just doesn’t want to  _ abandon _ Magnus. Because the second they kick him out, he’ll be homeless. Having spent a chunk of his life without a real home, Skwisgaar wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not someone he thought was his  _ friend _ . But he can't admit all that.

“Hnn, this is tough. I can’t trust him, Skwisgaar. How do we know if we bring him back, that he won’t just attack us again  _ anyway _ ?” 

A good point. They don’t know that he won’t. Guilt settles in Skwisgaar’s chest. He shouldn’t be advocating for Magnus, and endangering Nathan. Nathan would never pick Magnus’ side over Skwisgaar’s. Skwisgaar should have enough respect for Nathan to do the same. But something’s changed. Magnus had started to open up to Skwisgaar in the last few days. He isn’t such a bad guy, really. Just obviously broken and addicted and… unpredictable. Skwisgaar sighs. 

“De truths ams… I believes dat de band  _ needs _ Magnus. And I t’inks, after dis, he won’ts bes so bads.” Skwisgaar looks down at his hands, not meeting Nathan’s eyes, which he can  _ feel _ on his neck. A beat passes where no one says anything. Nathan’s gruff voice breaks the silence.

“I know it must be hard for you to accept this. You and him are closer, and I never understood that, but I guess it’s a guitarist thing. That must be why you’re so hell-bent on bringing him back.” Each sentence hits Skwisgaar like a punch to the gut. He stares ahead, ashamed, and Nathan continues. “That’s why I’m going to leave it up to you.”

Oh.

Wait. What?

Skwisgaar looks up at him, puzzled. “But Nathans… you ams de ones in charge of Dethklok.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t feel like I can do this. I almost  _ blinded _ him, or _worse_.” A look of guilt crosses Nathan’s features. So that’s what’s holding him back. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s supposed to make this call.”

That means it’s all on Skwisgaar. It feels as if the fate of Dethklok sits squarely on Skwisgaar’s shoulders. He has the power. A power he feels he should not wield.

Yes, he wants Magnus to stay, but he’d hoped Nathan would be the one to decide it. That would have made everything easier. But now Nathan’s unsure- something Skwisgaar has never had to deal with before. Their leader has never faltered, until now.

It’s foolish to bring Magnus back. This decision could potentially endanger his bandmates, it could mean another betrayal. But at the same time… it’s  _ Magnus. _ Nathan hadn’t been so far off the mark when he’d acknowledged Skwisgaar’s closeness to him. The two guitarists were just starting to understand each other, it seemed, before Magnus lost it. Skwisgaar knows in his heart that if he can just keep digging, he can get to the _real_ Magnus, even if it’s dangerous.

Skwisgaar squeezes his eyes shut. He knows what he really wants.

“We gots to brings him back, Nathan. I ams sorries.” He peeks an eye open.

Nathan nods slowly. “I see. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe not. I don’t know.” He looks at Skwisgaar. This time his green eyes are sincere, and almost look lost. “I’m trusting you ,” he says.

As if there wasn’t enough pressure on him already. Skwisgaar's anxiety translates this as,  _ if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you,  _ _ specifically. _ Skwisgaar nods, his heart racing. 

“If anyt’ings goes wrong- nos. I won’t lets it goes wrong. I swears to protects you,” he says. In his imagination, Magnus will come back and everything will be back to normal. They’ll make up, play their songs together again. This time, Magnus will be clean. Skwisgaar will help him. Everything will be fine, perfect.

It’s as if Nathan can read his mind. “You really think you can change him, huh?”

Skwisgaar shrugs. “I t’inks it ams worth a shots.”

“Huh. There’s nothing you think you can’t do, is there?”

Skwisgaar smiles, holding a fist up to his chin in determination. He’s good at hiding his flattery. “Dat’s rights.

“Then I guess  _ you _ can break the news to Magnus that he’s gonna be getting a replacement,” Nathan laughs good naturedly. “Have you guys heard back from the hospital yet?”

“Not yets,” Skwisgaar says, tensing up his shoulders and then releasing. “It has only beens a days. Hopefullies dey gets backs to us soons.” 

“Huh. I guess we just have to wait and see. I hate not knowing _when_ we can expect him back.” Skwisgaar knows what he means- one has to undergo certain mental preparations in order to deal with Magnus on a _good_ day. “ _And,_ ” Nathan sighs, “we have to call off the show. Obviously.”

“Pickle already calleds de owners of de venues and cancelleds it. While you heals, we amnt’s playings _no_ wheres.” A touch of softness creeps into Skwisgaar’s voice. He reaches out for Nathan’s right shoulder, gently touching the skin around the bandage. The wound should serve as enough reason not to bring Magnus back, a little voice in his head tells him, but he ignores it. He has already made his decision. _It’s more complicated than that_ , he tells himself. _I’m doing the right thing._ _Right?_

Nathan accepts his touch but looks away. “ _ Oh _ . Well, I guess that makes sense.” A pause. “We’re gonna have to start saving our pennies around here.” 

The sentiment is not lost on Skwisgaar. None of them have a steady income right now. They’ve been living primarily off of money from shows and busking, and between rent and booze, the money doesn’t go very far. 

“It’ll only be fors a couples of days, maybes weeks,” Skwisgaar says, dropping his hand and sitting beside Nathan, back against the headboard, leaving a foot between them. “We’ll be backs on ours feets in no times.” He is trying to convince himself of this as much as he is trying to reassure Nathan. 

After that, there’s not much left to say. Skwisgaar doesn’t have to ask about Nathan’s arm- he’ll just say it’s fine. Besides, it isn’t metal to care. His imagination wanders to the future once again. Magnus is back, he can still play. He can see. It’s all too good to be true, and Skwisgaar knows it. He never did believe in miracles, but he has always had a powerful imagination.

“Hey, you know what would be funny?” Nathan asks, interrupting Skwisgaar's fantasy.

“Whats?”

“What if we made Magnus sleep in the car? We wouldn’t have to worry about him attacking us in our sleep; we’d just lock him out.” Nathan smirks, proud of his solution.

Actually, that isn’t such a terrible idea. Skwisgaar imagines it. Leaving Magnus out in his car, while the rest of them are safe inside. There’s something sad yet amusing about it, and the prospect of getting to keep the couch is tempting. Skwisgaar snorts quietly. “Ja, dat ams a fittings punishkments fors him, I t’inks. We’ll makes him sleeps outs dere fors… maybes a weeks, ja?”

“Week, month, year. Whatever,” Nathan says jokingly. “The longer the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’ts t’inks I wants to still be livings here in a years,” Skwisgaar admits, suddenly solemn.

Nathan grunts in agreement. “I know. Hopefully, if things still go as planned, we won’t be.”

Skwisgaar looks at him, blue eyes helpless. They had spent so long in this apartment, working their asses off at their music, trying and mostly failing to hold jobs, just barely able to cover the costs of being a serious death metal band. They were so close to getting discovered, and now it feels like every second that chance is slipping away from them.  _ I ams trusting yous, _ he thinks, but does not say it. 

Skwisgaar slowly gets up, the bed creaking softly as if in protest. “Gets some rest, Nathans. We’ll figures out everyt’ings else in de mornings.” His hand turns the doorknob.

“Alright,” Nathan says. “Bye, Skwisgaar.... Thanks for coming in.”

“No problems, pals.” Skwisgaar lets himself out, and takes a deep breath once he’s out in the hall, alone again. That felt like the most stressful conversation he and Nathan had ever had. He could really use something to lift his spirits right now. Or some sleep.


End file.
